


Messire

by FixaIdea



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster, Мастер и Маргарита - Михаил Булгаков | The Master and Margarita - Mikhail Bulgakov
Genre: (no dw I'm not trying to kick Clive any further), Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 02:17:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19053235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: Trying to survive a rather dull high-society party Clive finds himself in strange company.





	Messire

The party was an absolute bore, but alas there was no escape for Clive, not yet. Saving face after a divorce, however quiet, was nigh impossible, but still, he at least had to try. He sighed and snatched a glass of champagne from a tray. He knew this soirée would be nothing but desperate damage control for the sake of his career, but did it really have to be this tedious? The guests were all the cream of high society, a crowd he should have felt welcome at but lately, even before his unacceptable faux-pas he started to feel more and more alien in their midst. Now, divorced and disgraced, it felt like he existed in a dark bubble he could not burst, no matter what. He took a long sip, surveying the crowd – and nearly choked on his drink.

There, right across the room, talking to the host stood a stranger. Tall fellow, neatly kept greyish hair, holding a cane with a silver, dog head-shaped knob. As if sensing Clive’s gaze on him he turned, fixed a pair of mismatched eyes on him and grinned. He said a few words to their host and the pair of them made their way towards Clive, who hastily put his glass down on the nearest table. It would not do to let them see it shake.

‘Durham, old boy!’ the host called out. It might have been a trick of the light, but it seemed to Clive that his eyes were slightly glazed over, and his smile a bit too wide to be natural ‘Allow me to present Professor Woland! Professor, this is Clive Durham.’

The stranger nodded slowly.

‘So you are Mr Durham. Just the man I was looking for.’

He turned to their host.

‘Would you be so kind and give us a moment? I’ve been meaning to talk to this gentleman.’

Clive sighed a little. Well then. That was that. He watched their host saunter away and allowed himself to be lead into an empty room. When the lock clicked behind them he straightened his back and turned to the stranger.

‘I am ready when you are, Messire. May I ask though, what was the last straw? The divorce?’

Woland cocked his head and studied him for a moment. Finally he chuckled, walked over to an armchair and made himself comfortable.

‘Oh, please, Mr Durham. The divorce was the best thing you did in your life. The best option both for your wife and yourself. At any rate, I am not here to take you anywhere.’

‘…Oh?’

Woland leant back in his chair and fixed an unblinking stare at Clive.

‘No Mr Durham. Even if you were a notable enough villain for me to collect and even if I thought the hell you built for yourself wasn’t punishment enough for your various failings – and I must commend you on your creativity – I would have no power over you.’

Clive tried to gulp but his throat was horribly dry. He wished he still had his drink, though he suspected a tall glass of whiskey, or hell, pure alcohol, would serve him better. He attempted an answer, but all he could force out was another faint ‘oh?’. Woland did not seem to be bothered. He steeped his fingers and went on.

‘You see atheists from Christian backgrounds still fall under my jurisdiction, but you effectively took yourself off of my hands by declaring yourself a Hellenist. What your chosen gods will say of your life remains to be seen… but this is not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

He stood and walked over to Clive. He leant in so close Clive could smell the faintest hint of brimstone on his clothes.

‘I have this pesky feeling that the party might get a serious damper around midnight’ Woland whispered ‘I would not stay much longer if I were you. You look pale anyway, are you feeling all right? Some fresh air might help.’

Clive, doing his best impression of dignified nonchalance, nodded. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know, especially concerning the fate of a certain old friend… But no. Do not ask for favours, never ask for favours.

‘You are quite right, it is getting terribly stuffy in here. I think… I should be going now.’

What exactly happened that night nobody was able to tell. When the police questioned him, Clive told the truth: he felt terribly shaky and nauseous and left early. What caused these symptoms, the police did not ask and Clive did not think they needed to know. Nobody else remembered the mysterious gentleman with the dog headed cane anyway.


End file.
